


Scenes from the Pharmacy

by Kapla_Quail



Category: Starfighter (Comic), Starfighter Eclipse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Banter, Bloodplay, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Developing Relationship, Disability, Dreams, Emotional Baggage, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Is this BDSM already? Idk, Knifeplay, M/M, Pharmacy-AU, Power Play, Scars, Self-Hatred, Unsafe Sex Practices, all the Praxis feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23613052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kapla_Quail/pseuds/Kapla_Quail
Summary: This is Pharmacy-AU: Helios and Selene own a pharmacy. Everyone has secrets. Cupid strikes several times.NB: Two new chapters appeared!
Relationships: Abel/Cain (Starfighter), Athos/Ethos (Starfighter), Cain/Deimos (Starfighter), Deimos/Praxis (Starfighter), Encke/Keeler (Starfighter), Helios/Selene (Starfighter Eclipse)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Praxis/Deimos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [on_the_wing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing/gifts).



> Originally the story was intended to be some kind of meta-fic with all the pairings. In the end only some snapshots developed. I hope I'll be able to add more scenes to this later.
> 
> As always, eternal thanks is due to on_the_wing.
> 
> names:  
> Helios - Afon Volkov  
> Selene - Ardhendu Satpati  
> Deimos – Misha Velyanov  
> Abel – Ethan Parker  
> Ethos - Aidan Ethelridge  
> Athos - Ben Nguyen  
> Praxis – Stavros Linakis  
> Cain - Alexei Lopatkin  
> Keeler - Simon Keeler  
> Encke - Desmond Encke  
> Cook - Elias Cook  
> Phobos - Jules de Bouteville-Montmorency  
> Porthos - Marek Waszkowiak

## Introduction

Situated at the corner of the Firecreek Road with its plane trees and the larger Blackforest Road leading towards the city center, there was the building in which this story takes place: the Selios Pharmacy. It was a tenement from the late 19th century, looking rather small despite the three existing floors, and with its antique brown shutters and large double windows it appeared almost quaint or at least inviting.

The Selios Pharmacy belonged to two owners. The pharmacists Afon Volkov and Ardhendu Satpati had joined their forces when they had acquired the old shop, and in all the years they had been leading it together, they had managed to create their own unique orientation. They had established an important contact point for the residents of their quarter.

Their pharmacy currently employed only male personnel. This wasn't an original decision of the owners, but rather a circumstance that had developed little by little, maybe due to their lifestyle as married gay couple, nobody could say for sure. The current staff included Misha Velyanov, the pharmacy technician, Aidan Ethelridge, pharmaceutical commercial assistant by profession, and young Ethan Parker as well as Ben Nguyen, pharmacy intern and pharmacy technician intern respectively. Of the two pharmacists, only Afon was constantly present in the shop while his partner and lover mostly travelled abroad, lecturing at trade fairs and international conferences.

Furthermore, there were the wholesale drivers that came by four times a day, subtenants of the pharmacy, a lot of clients and among them some special ones that had grown on the personnel over the years. You will get to know them all, reader, you will recognise them as we now plunge deeper into the world of this little enterprise. There is so much to discover, so many struggles, lives and loves. Not for nothing Cupid considers the Selios pharmacy his favourite place. Soon you'll see how all the strings converge here.

Let's start now, let's have a closer look at the first two of the aforementioned boys. The curtain rises. Are you ready?

## Misha

The most solitary room available, the plain and sterile lab facing the ugly parking lot in the yard, was the lair of Misha, the place where he prepared formulas. Misha was one of the pharmacy technicians, and one probably no other pharmacy would ever have hired. Misha didn't talk. It was not that he couldn't – he was indeed capable of speaking, albeit with a quiet, raspy voice that was hard to understand. But to do so, he had to try very hard. Hence he just didn't.

This fact, his gloomy exterior and his strange way of staring at people made him unsuited for a job at the counter, much less mastering a job interview. To most people, it was a mystery how Misha had managed to obtain his working permission at all. But by a giant stroke of luck his extraordinary talent at preparing formulas had been discovered by a trade school teacher. She had convinced him to take part in a competition at a trade fair, and there Ardhendu had taken notice of him, so amazed by the short man's abilities that he was willing to hire him even on the condition that he be allowed to work in silence.

And this was what Misha was doing, day after day, without variation and without complaint. Since he had the suzerainty of the pharmacy's laboratory, the analysis of substances was no issue anymore, and while preparing ointments his dexterity, his memory and feel for the products were without equal. Misha didn't just produce drugs.They seemed to be a part of himself that he was willing to give away to the patients. He was diligent and hardworking and more than happy to be left alone and not spoken to. Granted, he was strange. But every day proved that with him, Ardhendu had made a really good catch.

Today, Misha had just completed a beautiful ointment using unguentum leniens. The cooling foundation, the sharp salicylic acid and just the right amount of liquor carbonis detergens had united to a perfect entirety, making him revel in the smell, his heart beating faster. Misha was so thrilled by the cream's consistency and texture that he was genuinely sad he couldn't apply a little bit of it on his own body. So, sighing, he eventually turned to complete the manufacturing protocol in the pharmacy's software. Right then, something caught his eye. There was someone in the courtyard. A stranger.

Misha lifted an eyebrow. It was hidden under his usual black bangs, so no onlooker would have noticed a reaction on his face. The truth, however, was that the second he had spotted the unknown figure, the technician's curiosity was much piqued.

Judging from his clothing, the ugly work trousers and the black bomber jacket, the man down there was a driver from the wholesale, a tall, well-built hunk, as Misha established approvingly. Misha deduced from the fumbling movements he made in his pockets that this stranger was looking for a wind-protected place to smoke. When he turned a little to stand in the corner, Misha could detect a black spot on his face. The man was wearing an eyepatch!

Now, Misha' curiosity was not only piqued, but he was almost shivering with excitement. The window pane was sprinkled with slip notes full of plausibility checks which proved very useful when Misha wanted to see, but not to be seen. He stepped closer to the glass, his documentation all forgotten. Who was this guy? Was it even legal for the wholesale to send out drivers with a vision impediment?

As if he had heard his thoughts, the stranger looked up towards the lab window, shifting his weight to his other leg as if to set his muscular backside in the best possible light. Misha made sure not to make the slightest move.Yet, the tall guy's gaze seemed to pierce not only the glass, but also his body. What a gorgeous man, so tall and handsome! He was nothing like the washed-up Russian client Misha went home with occasionally, for the thrill, for some booze and to forget his loneliness. This man looked trustworthy and strong, yet dangerous enough to make Misha's heart fly towards him.

So ultimately, Misha decided to let himself be seen and, throwing his bangs to the side, stepped forward, if only a little bit. The driver down there blew smoke into the chilly air. Then he smiled.

## Stavros

Stavros squished the cigarette stub under his heel and turned to find his parked truck, the image of the cute face at the pharmacy window still on his mind.

It had only been seconds he had managed to see it clearly, and his observations were barely more than two big eyes watching him from under a curtain of jet black hair. This was not much to hold onto, Stavros thought. But he was crazy enough that even such a short impression was able to set him dreaming.

It was hard to decide if that pretty face he'd seen belonged to a boy or a girl, he mused. Stavros gulped hard to suppress the preference he clearly had in that matter, because they were sick just like the rest of his brain. It was unlikely, though, that a girl would ever smile at him like this. So maybe after all, it probably had been a boy. Stavros remembered some rumours about this very pharmacy which included being one that only employed male personnel.

Maybe he would find out for himself. Maybe there was a slight chance he could see this interesting face close up, should he be able to sub for Marek once more in the next months...

Stavros left the courtyard, and as soon as he did so, a gust of wind hit him hard and blew his hair into his free eye. Freezing, he dug his hands deeper in his pockets.

He had just reached his white wholesale car when suddenly out of the corners of his good eye he noticed a bigger black movement under the tall plane trees. When he turned to have a better look, a small, dark figure pushed him right against his car with dash. Upset, Stavros opened his mouth to throw some insults at the stranger. But in the moment he noticed who this person was, a knife's blade was sparkling right in front of his face, and the words died in his throat.

It was only yesterday that his colleague Marek had told him about wholesale drivers having been attacked by robbers on a lonely parking lot recently. He had warned him to be careful, but Stavros had only laughed at his pansy-ass colleague. Now, he couldn't believe he was about to become a crime victim himself, and despite his miserable situation, he tried to scan the dark street for potentially helpful pedestrians. Alas, the storm seemed to have driven everyone into their houses. All Stavros could see was a blade and the creepy little person that held it to his face. The cutie from the pharmacy! How could he have come down and out of the building so quickly? What did he want from Stavros? Was he mad?

The small attacker didn't speak a single word to explain his action. His face, however, showed a creepy little smile that boded ill. Under normal circumstances, a little fellow of his build would have been an easy opponent for Stavros to fight, but the blade so close to his good eye hampered the driver completely. Instead, he felt something else, something he never would have expected of himself in such a situation: he was aroused. His fear, the thrill of the danger made his cock grow hard, made his body shiver to an extent where he was about to ejaculate right into his pants. It didn't help, either, that his small attacker was pressing his wiry body against his crotch and abdomen while pushing Stavros back against his car. When the black-clad cutie moved and grabbed his collar, Stavros moaned helplessly.

“Tomorrow, 19 o'clock”, a little voice rasped into his ear. The scary stranger slid his blade down Stavros' cheek in a final caress, leaving him shivering. The next thing Stavros saw was the cutie's back and firm ass when he placidly strolled back into the courtyard towards the pharmacy's back entrance.

## Stavros

It was half past six. Too early.

Stavros sat in his truck parked near the back entrance of the pharmacy, engine and lights turned off. He watched. In the pharmacy there was still a bustle - more than ever, actually, with all the people coming home from work now, wanting to quickly pick up their drugs on the way.

Stavros knew he was early, but he needed some time to think. He was lucky he had been able to convince Marek to change shifts with him under the pretence of his mother being sick and needing his help. Marek was a nice guy and a Pole; he understood such issues immediately. Pity, only, that Stavros didn't actually have a mother he could look after here in this country. She and the whole remainder of his family were still where Stavros originally came from: a Greek shithole. Where nobody had a job, where the men were drinking in front of the shitty houses, where the streets were still no more than sandy paths.

15 years ago, Stavros' father had decided he'd had enough. He had packed his belongings to start a new life in a country where he could earn some money. Stavros, an adventurous teenager then, had wanted to come along. The women, however, had made the only possible clever decision in such a situation: They had let the men do what the men thought right, not willing to partake in their selfish shit. Someone had to look after the grandparents, the house and the animals, after all.

And they had been so right. Stavros had known that his father was drinking, but he hadn't known to what extent until they arrived in the new country. He'd forgotten all those big plans of finding a well-paying job, earning a living, making the women come over, too. Stavros had to realize he didn't have any support here, couldn't speak the fucking new language, he was all on his own. And, he thought with a huff, that's what he had been ever since.

If he thought about it from this angle, he wasn't afraid anymore of the things that might happen to him tonight. Granted, instead of following the call, he maybe should have called the police first, told them he'd found out who the mysterious parking lot robber was and...what? Become a hero, get a reward? Stavros snorted. In this fucking country, there were no rewards for anybody. He had had to realize this when he had got together with his first girl, 10 years ago.

Man, 10 years already. 10 years since he had been touched by another human being voluntarily. It was so long a time he even came to doubt if it really was another girl he was dreaming of ever since.

Stavros had always thought it normal for a boy and later for a man to watch same-sex porn secretly. Chatting carefully with his driver colleagues, however, he had found out that apparently it wasn't. So it was clear why Stavros was always a loner. Because something was twisted in his brain.

He was twisted, but strangely, sitting here in the dark and watching the pharmacy's shutters close, he noticed that he had stopped feeling bad about it. Someone had seen his perversion. Someone had seen him, seen through him, and was coming to do to him what was probably the ultimate consequence of his twisted life, his twisted fantasies.

Stavros didn't care if this little man was a murderer, for he was dead inside already. The wholesale would find another driver in no time. Marek would maybe scratch his mohawk, looking puzzled. His father would maybe write his mother and sisters a card. Maybe.

Stavros was glad he would never find out.

“Thay moo!”* He thought his heart would stop when the door next to him was torn open brutally and a short, dark figure slid into the passenger seat. How could he not even have seen him approaching?

The other didn't turn his head, just watched him out of the corners of his eyes that were partly hidden under these jet-black bangs. He was wearing a black leather jacket, and a black hood was drawn over his head. And there was the knife again.

“Go”, the man rasped. And Stavros obeyed.

Mechanically, he started the engine, steered the car out of the dark, arbored street and onto the main road. Stavros' mouth was suddenly dust-dry and he gulped helplessly, keeping his eyes glued to the crowded street, hands cramped around the wheel while sweat started to pour down his forehead. He didn't dare to look to the side where the robber was sitting, although it was on the side of his good eye. The flashing knife made very sure he wasn't the one who was making decisions here.

After some time of silent, fearful driving, he noticed the route felt vaguely familiar.

“Where are we going?”, he managed to whisper.

“Your place”, the stranger rasped.

## Misha

What a night.

Misha was the first to arrive at the pharmacy alongside Afon, and contrary to his normal habits, he didn't immediately disappear into the lab. His whole body aching and pleasantly sore, his mind completely overtired yet sated, he was more than glad to take care of the first order of the day, to type all the data into the computer and store the drugs.

No way he could concentrate on tiny weighed portions now, prepare a formula as carefully as it had to be done. Today, Misha had a lot of other things on his mind. He needed at least a few moments of calm to process his latest experiences. And while Afon was opening the shutters and serving the first clients of the day before the other staff arrived, Misha smiled because luckily, today he had that time.

What a night, he thought. And then: Stavros.

The mere name made him smile a little again.

What an amazing man he was. How amazing they had made each other feel.

Images of the last night emerged in front of his inner eye like scenes from a movie, like disjointed moments he knew by heart just by watching them from the outside. It was hard to believe these moments hadn't been a dream.

He saw an icon. Letters in the language of the savants.

He saw himself, pushing the taller man against his apartment door from the inside, after it had clicked shut.

He saw himself tying the other's hands to the bed-post in a pitch-black room.

He saw himself bent over a body, undressing it slowly by cutting every layer of fabric from the torso with his knife. He heard no sound except the other's strained breathing, his stifled moans whenever Misha carefully scarified his skin.

He saw himself enjoying every second of what he was doing, and he saw the other wriggling and squirming, saw him blush despite the darkness, saw and felt and heard him begging for it. Until it had been him, Misha, who had been begging for it eventually. Until he had untied the other, had ripped off his own clothes and spread himself on the bed to be taken, his whole body aching with anticipation.

Misha sighed and shivered when he remembered how it had felt. How clumsy, how rough and yet gentle in some ways. How _large._ How the fact that the other needed to ask him what to do had turned him on so much he had screamed his name at the end. What screaming was for him, anyway. _Stavros._

Stavros had been so gentle afterwards, hugging him tight to his muscular breast, placing kisses all over his abhorrent body. He had almost carried him into the shower – only to get so aroused again by it that they had done it once more, right there. And then once more, when Stavros had started to cook pasta for them, around midnight. Or in the early morning. Misha couldn't even remember.

He had no idea how he had been able to get up, to _walk_ , to get here to his workplace. All he had wanted was to stay there with Stavros, next to Stavros, underneath Stavros, licking blood from all the cuts the other had begged for.

He couldn't wait to do all this again. He would wait in front of Stavros' door like the stray dog that he was, until his master came home to break his silence again and be broken in turn.

Misha shivered and got hard. Stavros.

  
  


“Hey, what's with Misha today?”, Ben whispered when he passed behind the workstation where his silent colleague was smiling at some packages of aspirin in his lap.

Aidan shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe his cat had kittens?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Oh my God"
> 
> Dear confused readers, I'm sure you'll have noticed by now that the Selios-enterprise is not an American pharmacy. I was unaware of it before writing this story, but of course the processes in pharmacies differ heavily depending on the country you're in. So don't be puzzled about what's going on here and rather take these insights as some sort of...educational film. Haha.


	2. Athos/Ethos, Abel/Cain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> names again to help you:
> 
> Helios - Afon Volkov  
> Selene - Ardhendu Satpati  
> Deimos – Misha Velyanov  
> Abel – Ethan Parker  
> Ethos - Aidan Ethelridge  
> Athos - Ben Nguyen  
> Praxis – Stavros Linakis  
> Cain - Alexei Lopatkin  
> Keeler - Simon Keeler  
> Encke - Desmond Encke  
> Cook - Elias Cook  
> Phobos - Jules de Bouteville-Montmorency  
> Porthos - Marek Waszkowiak

# Ben

Ben Nguyen yawned. After a night spent drinking and playing video games with Aidan, his flatmates and their chicks, he was now replenishing stocks in the salesroom-shelves only very absentmindedly. He really enjoyed living together with his skater-buddies, but sometimes their notorious party-thirst tended to interfere with his work, and this, he realised just now, became more and more annoying. Ben hadn't been a shining light in pharmacy school, he was lucky to have gotten this internship here after all. Maybe if he busted a gut for Ardhendu, he would even keep him on after the internship. Regardless, the boss couldn't take no joke about loafing around at work, that was for sure.

Speaking of joking: Bored by the bovine task he was doing right now, Ben had to think of a story Aidan had tried to tell him in the corridor half an hour ago when arriving for his shift. The intern still didn't know what to make of it. Because yes, Aidan was a giant scandalmonger and also tended to be exaggerating things, it was typical he would butt into other people's love affairs, too. But Desmond Encke, courting? That, if true, really was too funny! Ben needed to hear everything about this later.

Until then, however, he urgently needed to contemplate matters that were significantly more important for his personal life. His fancy for this very Aidan, for example. Yesterday at the party the commercial assistant had looked so sweet, had told such funny episodes out of his life that Ben had needed all remaining self-restraint to stop his half-drunk infatuation. It would have been so easy to slide a hand up Aidan's strong hand and freckled forearm, to lean a little closer to him than friendship alone would permit. His flatmates probably wouldn't even have noticed, and even if so, a confession about Ben's sexual orientation was long overdue. But the problem was Aidan.

Aidan, and of this Ben was convinced, wasn't gay and had no idea his 'favourite colleague' (with which title he liked to call Ben, to crown it all) was. The intern had seen pictures of Aidan with pretty girls, definitely no sisters or cousins, and he saw him flirt with female customers every day. No real gay man would ever do that, right? Ardhendu, for example, never soft-soaped women, and neither did Desmond Encke, all clinical professionalism wherever he stood or walked. As far as his second boss Afon was concerned, however...

The sudden slamming of the front door brutally ripped Ben out of his thoughts and almost made him drop his cough syrups. Turning with a start and a presentiment of danger, he almost couldn't believe his eyes: He caught sight of no other than Alexei Lopatkin!

Mr. Lopatkin was a man greatly feared. To speak the truth, he was one of the worst clients of the Selios Pharmacy, one of the bad for business-kind of guys 'at once pompous and meddling'. Every employee had been blown up by him at least once for things completely out of their control, as his entirely bad manners seemed to make it impossible to listen or speak to people in a normal way. He was said to be an army-veteran what sounded absolutely incredible considered the fact that he was either moaning like an ill-bred child or shouting like a madman (like 'gipsy trash', with which title he liked to address himself). No traces of discipline or sense of honour were to be found anywhere about him. Additionally, he looked way too young and physically fit to indeed be a veteran, Ben found.

It was hard to tell if Mr. Lopatkin was more difficult to manage when he was drunk or when he was sober. But probably nobody had ever met him sober in the first place - the ideal precondition for taking psychotropic drugs, as anybody with the remainders of a brain could imagine. Lopatkin had the guts to regularly enter the pharmacy with a smoke in his yap, breaking out in imprecations as soon as a horrified Afon appeared, trying to soothe the client, in his mothertongue even – a waste of time with Lopatkin, like anything else.

There was only one thing that seemed to have a calming influence on him, a person even, and this person was intern Ethan. With Ethan, the client of hell managed to speak in something coming close to household noise level. He didn't abandon his disgusting snarling and hissing entirely, but sometimes he almost showed something that could be mistaken for a smile. He had the habit of calling Ethan 'princess', and although the staff teased him with it, Ben had the impression Ethan somehow liked it. Ha, that little debaucher! Who knew if he wasn't even secretly hooking him up?

Now, however, when he saw himself confronted with that greasy, jet-black hair and its bizarre turquoise streaks again, Ben made haste to disappear into the back rooms, calling for Ethan in utter despair.

# Ben

Lopatkin slammed the bottle of nasal drops down on the counter so brutally Ben was scared he might break bottle and counter in the act.

“Shit! Stupid fucking shit!”, he yelled at Ethan who had rushed behind the counter. “Your fucking colleague sold me some shit nasal spray and I want my money back!”

The salesroom trembled, and so did Ben while absconding into the backquarters. Ethan, however, didn't tremble, as far as he could see. Gently and almost tenderly he leaned closer towards the odious client, a light blush on his pretty cheeks, his dog's eyes fluttering.

“Mr. Lopatkin. Will you please tell me what the problem is with this spray, and then I'm sure we'll find a solution.”

“Tch! The problem?” Lopatkin was frantic. “It isn't working, that's the problem! You're selling shit here, princess, taking your clients for idiots!”

Ethan smiled patiently while he took the bottle from the counter. “Mr. Lopatkin. This spray isn't working because it is no spray at all! It's nosedrops what you bought. I'm pretty sure this also what you asked for.”

“Look at me, princess”, Lopatkin ordered and was brazen enough to reach over the counter and turn Ethan's face up by the chin, while Ben watched in horror. “Do you want to tell me I'm batshit? I know what I asked for. And this was not it!”

Ethan didn't smile any more but nodded subserviently, still not visibly afraid of that vile face so close to his. “Allright, Mr. Lopatkin, I get it. It's no problem, we can swap it with a nasal spray and everything's fine.”

“It's not fine to sell your customers janky shit, Ethan”, the other man snarled. “That's criminal. Tell your boss that I've got him taped.”

The Russian still held Ethan's chin with his right hand, but within the blink of an eye, his whole attitude changed and he moved his hand upwards a little to gently cup the intern's cheek, as if careful not to scratch the boy with his fingerless glove.

“See you tonight, princess?”, he flirted. “You know I like you a lot better with other things in hand than this chem-shit anyway.”

Now the intern blushed deeply. “Alexei...”

“Heh! 'Alexei' will be employed later. Now you work”, the other rambled on. “You have to become a boss yourself quickly to take over this dump of a pharmacy. See you later, princess!”

And shaking his bichrome mane and his hips alike the man sauntered out of the salesroom, leaving the nosedrops behind for the trash.


	3. Encke/Keeler (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond Encke, courting? What was this about? Well, read on and you'll see what happened to him...

# Desmond

After a relatively calm morning, the mood in the pharmacy changed as soon as the second delivery of the day was due. Inexpectedly, Marek, the blond wholesale driver, carried almost twenty crates through the salesroom and into the corridor. It was all goods that needed repacking for partner-pharmacies, and as the corridor was narrow, Afon urged his interns on to get busy quickly. Ben and Ethan did what they could to compare delivery and packing lists, to type everything in the computer and store away what could be dealed with later.

Right in this chaos of incoming goods and bustling employees, the pharmacy backdoor door opened and over the countless crates stepped Desmond Encke. The tall, dark man was a physiotherapist. His office was situated above the pharmacy on the first floor, next to the pharmacy's storage rooms, and as a subtenant, he happened to come around in the pharmacy on a daily basis.

The staff liked him very much for his helpful, reliable personality, and his patients adored him. But Desmond Encke was the type of man who didn't show his gentle heart to foreigners. The shuttered, sullen appearence behind which he hid, combined with the fact he scarcely smiled, led to people seeing him as farouche and crude. Now, however, at the sight of the piled up corridor, even he couldn't suppress a slight upwards movement of the corners of his mouth.

"You guys look busy“, he remarked, offering Ethan his hand to help him up from where he squatted between the blue crates, next to Ben, armed with a clipboard.

"Ah, just the usual remittance order“, the blond sighed, taking his hand out of Desmond's just a tiny moment too late. Blushing over it, he busied himself with smoothing his tunic, laughing. "Thank God we interns are here to deal with that, right? On some days it looks like we're doing nothing else than product management, and that despite the fact that we're pharmaceutical personnel and should...“

"Remember the rules, boys: No flirting with our subtenants!“, Afon's mock-rebuking voice was to be heard from out of the principal's office where he sat at his PC, correcting prescriptions. Ethan and Ben chuckled.

"Ah, Desmond“, Ben, the other intern, exclaimed, "I forgot to tell you the letters you were expecting have finally arrived. Surely you came here to check for them?“

When the dark-haired boy reached up to the shelf to fetch the physiotherapist's mail, the latter just coincidentally stepped a little forward in the doorway leading to the salesroom. It wasn't that he wanted to spy on what was happening out there, or that he had heard something special that had caught his interest. It was just an unreflected movement to have a better standing among the piles of crates. Yet, when he turned his head to take a look, he stopped short like thunderstruck.

Out there at the counter, there was only one client. He was being served by Ardhendu in person and turned his attention towards the pharmacist, talking to him in low, soft tones. Thus, Desmond couldn't see the man's face properly at first– but what he could see rendered him speechless.

Firstly, he saw a lot of hair. Desmond wasn't into women, so normally fine, long, chilly-blond hair wasn't a thing that caught his attention. On a man, however, this was such an unusual sight that the singularly beautiful face that now turned to him for a second wouldn't even have been necessary to set him staring.

Mother in heaven, Encke thought. This client was pure perfection! How could it be Encke had never met him here before?

He had fine, elegant, oh so emaciated features. A flawless skin of a pale, translucent colour, almost ghostly white, definitely unhealthy. Two big, clear eyes – much too big, too deep and too sad, the dark circles under them much too prominent to be condoned. And ultimately a fine, firm mouth, embittered by pain.

With a small hand, this heavenly creature took his ec card and a receipt from Ardhendu, stuffed both in his purse and said his goodbye without turning to the doorway again. The therapist watched the short, skinny figure climb down the stairs, and he felt his heart tighten about how frail he looked. He must have had a cute ass once, but judging by the way his trousers crinkled down there now, this elf was on the edge of underweight. With a sad chiming of farewell, the door shut behind him.

"Ah, poor mister Keeler“, Ardhendu sighed to himself when he left his place behind the counter, brows narrowed by worry. He checked the elf's prescriptions once more before putting them on the pile for the orders. Then he looked up and noticed the physiotherapist.

"Ah, hi Desmond! Thank God you're allright at least. Are the craftsmen still up and about in your office? And did you find your letters?“

Desmond Encke nodded, but he was incapable of answering properly right now. As if drawn by invisible threads, he descended the stairs, too, slowly making his way towards the entrance door. Through the window, he could see the small man crossing the street slowly, his open hair and scarf dancing beautifully in the autumn wind. Desmond watched, unable to tear his eyes away. This must be a dream.

Suddenly, a tousled, reddish-blond head surfaced from between all the promo packages, standees and posters next to the door. It was Aidan, the pharmacy's commercial assistant who was technically busy decorating the shop window. But as usual, nothing that happened in the pharmacy was lost to the funny youngster. Shaking dust out of his locks, he giggled about Desmond's nonplussed expression.

"His name is Simon“, he stage-whispered, emphasizing this information with a big wink. "Just out of hospital. Heart defect. His boyfriend broke up with him some months ago, said he was a man, no nurse. Asshole.“

Simon, Encke thought. Simon Keeler. Heart defect.

If it was true and he had been dumped some months ago, it must have happened right about the time Artemis had broken up with him, Desmond. Subdued by his heartbreak, he had rarely come to the pharmacy then, what might explain why he had never met this wonder of creation.

Simon Keeler. Heart defect.

How much shit he must have gone through. How lonely he must be.

Desmond gulped. How could it be that he felt so close to this man already, that his heart went out to him just like that? Nurse, man, whatever it was he needed, Encke knew in the moment he watched him disappear that he was ready and willing to provide it – gladly.

# Desmond

“No.”

“Yes.”

“It'll never work.”

“Trust me, it will”, said Aidan and patted the other man's muscular shoulders even if he had to reach up ridiculously high to do so. “You said yourself you see no other way to get to know him. He's very isolated and scarcely leaves the house. The only way to get closer to him is through the pharmacy.”  
  
“I'll make a complete fool of myself.” Desmond grumbled. “Great. I guess it's too late to say no to your plan, am I right?”  
  
The blond just chuckled and nodded. “You'll see, once you're in his flat, you'll be in his heart, too, in no moment.”

“So?” The physiotherapist raised an eyebrow, standing in the cold staircase stupidly because Aidan had lured him there under the pretext of a problem with the cellar door. “Speaking out of experience?”

“Ah, no way. I'm the more down to earth-kind of lover, you know. I take what's offering itself.”

Desmond snorted. They were both crazy, and now they were counting the cost. He should never have rented rooms in this gay-house-hell.

“It's your only chance. Be ready! I call you tomorrow as soon as Afon has fixed the time when the _operation_ is going to take place. ”

“Operation? What do you have to talk about me in the hallway?”, said man interrupted, peeking through the pharmacy backdoor, his low-cut pink shirt vaguely perceptible in the gap. “Aidan, I told you to take stock, not to take a break with Desmond. Hi, Desmond”, he added with a wink and a big smile.

Afon was a cutie, one could not deny it. Nobody would ever reckon him as something as stuffy as a pharmacist - especially not after having been in bed with him like Encke had. Once. It was their little secret, a secret Ardhendu would never forgive, and consequently Afon would never reveal. Although Encke couldn't get rid of the feeling that Ardhendu already knew it, somehow. Ardhendu, the eminence ombré. The job alone was proof Afon had become Ardhendu's creature to the core, and it was a pity in several respects.

Alas, Desmond was in no position to judge other people's relationships. The two were together since their studies, what made about eight years now at a minimum. When he thought about what he had achieved in the last eight years of his life regarding stable relationships, he felt a great need to listen to his Gilles Binchois-recording ten times in a row again.

Sighing, he climbed up the stairs to his office to treat his next client, having someone totally different on his mind.

_Vous estes celle que adés veul servir,_

_Vous estes tout mon joyeux souvenir,_

_Hores et tousjours tres douce, simple et coye.*_

# Desmond

Simon Keeler lived in one of those fancy belle époque-apartment houses that made up the largest part of the quarter. On the fourth floor, as Desmond observed when he lurked in front of the main entrance door much too long. He waited for the elf to answer the bell. When he finally heard a voice – the voice! - he almost forgot what he was supposed to say.

“It's the pharmacy, I'm bringing round your orders!”

“Ah? Okay then, please come up.”

Simon Keeler lived high up where whilst renovating some really bad architects had split one big flat into three insipid smaller ones. When Desmond had climbed up the stairs and rounded the last winding, he spotted the blond already standing in the doorframe, and his heartbeat stopped for a second.

“Hello”, he exclaimed before he had even reached the highest step and the open door, struggling hard to appear friendly and communicative for once. “I'm dropping off your drugs, from the pharmacy.”

Desmond came to a halt in front of the elf and stared at him, at his bare feet on the parquet floor, his yoga pants, the pullover that hung loose on his bony frame and at his pale hair that he wore over his shoulder today in a cute little braid. The man looked tired, as if coming right out of bed. Desmond just prayed this wasn't the case.

The smirk on the blond's face remained a hint. “Well, thank you very much.”

Encke fumbled with the little paper bag in his hands, unsure of what to do.

“Oh, are you the new intern?”, Simon asked into the awkwardness. “I think I haven't seen you in the pharmacy before.”

Desmond blushed hard. “Er, no. Uh, actually I'm Desmond Encke. The physiotherapist.”

The blond looked at him questioningly, doubtlessly accounting Encke for a complete fool. _Come on_ , that little voice inside Desmond urged, _tell him the truth about why you're really here. Tell him you wanted to see him again!_

“You know, I came here because I... I have my office above the pharmacy, and as they're understaffed today, they asked me...” _Liar!_ “...to run some errands for them.” _Despicable liar!_ “Er, my clients for this afternoon canceled, you know.” 

And he passed the drugs over to Simon.

“Mister Satpati said you should check whether everything's correct with the medication.” Desmond made a gesture with his hands, and Simon opened the bag immediately, producing several packages of drugs whose names didn't ring a bell with Desmond at all.

“It's all correct”, Keeler confirmed, putting the packages on a little shelf and turning towards the physiotherapist again. He hesitated. “Do you need something from me?”

_ I need a kiss, at least one. Fuck, I need you.  _ “Uh, er, no, as you've paid everything already.”

Desmond backed out a little and got ready to leave the apartment he had barely entered – a white, clean, almost sterile apartment, as far as he could see. Of course, the owner having just returned from hospital.

_ Do it, idiot, tell him something!  _ “Y-you know, I'm doing osteopathy and acupunct-massages, thus I also offer my clients to dejam scars and check for blockades. Mister Satpati mentioned you were in hospital lately, so maybe I could do something to help make you feel better...”  _ Great wording. Congrats, douchebag. _

But Simon nodded slowly. “Oh, I see. Actually, I've heard about that scar-thing, but I'm not sure if it's not too early, still, to do it. Everything's barely healed. But thanks... for the offer.”

Simon looked up to him with those big eyes, apparently embarassed and very unsure why this strange visitor wasn't finally leaving. And Desmond had to pinch his arm in rage because he had fucked this situation up so much. In literally the last second, an idea came to his mind.

“Oh, no problem, but here, please take my card. You can call me anytime, you know?”  _ Because I'm madly in love with you and I won't sleep all through a single night until you do. _

Simon took it and turned the card in his slim, fine hands, reading Desmond's name or whatever he found so interesting on it. “That's very nice of you. Thank you, mister Encke. Goodbye”, he said.

“Goodbye, mister Keeler”, Desmond heard himself mumble.

_You really fucked it up, Encke. You're a shitty errand boy, you know that?_

He knew it as soon as the door fell shut: He'd kill Aidan for having had this idea in the first place.

# Desmond

Undecided until around midnight, Desmond eventually dragged himself to a target-oriented place with the creative name of 'Coxxx Bar'. Since he had moved into town, he had been a frequent guest there, and even during the months he had been together with Artemis they had come there often enough, looking for someone to share their fun with.

Tonight, Desmond (and what sense was there in hiding the truth from himself?) wasn't really looking for fun, but for some cute blondie to project his fantasies onto. All he got was a somewhat dodgy looking teen who apparently had a thing for sinister black men and pretended to be 20 (what nobody believed). But he was a funny drunk, so Encke took him home.

While fucking him hard, fast and anonymously, Encke couldn't chase the thought away that this wasn't how it would be going to be with a Simon Keeler, heart defect. Doped up on drugs, it would be a miracle if commonplace sex would be possible with him at all. But would Desmond miss it? What was it he really wanted, anyway?

Later, when both men were drinking Encke's coffee in his kitchen, leaning against the furniture naked and in silence, their spent dicks dangling lazily, he couldn't help but imagine Simon in the boy's place. Not naked, of course. In his yoga pants and sloppy dark pullover, wearing the little braid again he had kept over his shoulder that other day.

Encke wouldn't only make one coffee for him. He'd feed him with his famous mousse au chocolat, at midnight if necessary, and fry him a lot of eggs for breakfast, until the elf would get some cheeks again and a cute little ass to squeeze for giggles. After sleepless nights of pain, he'd make him lay down on his leather couch and pull the soft white blanket over his shoulders, caress his hair and kiss him better before he left for work.

This, Encke thought. This was what he wanted.

"Come, grab your clothes, boy“, he told his tryst with a gesture of his head. "Thanks for the night. I'll drive you home.“

# Aidan

Aidan Ethelridge was born lucky. He didn't need his mother to tell him so, he just felt it, everyday. Life made him happy, people made him happy, and he knew by all those blushing grannies he served everyday that he made people happy in return. Even if this sometimes required making a fool of himself. But as far as today's events were concerned, he had only himself to blame.

When Afon had summoned his team to speak about the next pharmacy action day and had suggested to bring that wheel of fortune down into the salesroom, it had been Aidan who had rejoiced in anticipation. Nobody had had any doubts that it was him and Ben who would end up being in charge for it, animating the clients and complimenting them on their prices, because it was just the ideal job for them. Seeing all those children smile, all those grannies become kids again in front of their favourite pharmacy technician – it was worth it, Aidan found. And Ben's funny, over the top-comments on every customer were worth it, anyway. What better thing than spending a whole day together with his favourite colleague?

So here they stood, in their best mood and not at all jealous of Ethan who had to serve at the counter alone, jesting with them occasionally, but only when there was a slack. Ethan was so duteous, it was frightening.

Right when old Mrs. Ludmilla had left, clutching her freshly-won dish towels to her chest, and the two boys hoped to be able to take a coffee break finally, the pharmacy-door opened again with the usual chime. In came, wind-blown and frail as ever, no other than poor Simon Keeler. He barely managed to shut the door behind himself due to the storm going on out there, and needed a second to put himself in order again.

“Oh, Mr. Keeler!”, Aidan exclaimed. “So good to see you again, how are you?”

“Today is our pharmacy action day”, Ben came in immediately, cutting the blond's attempt to answer. “There's great prices to win, like our pharmacy-coffee mugs, towels, bibs, bath tub thermometers...”

One could see that the last thing Mr. Keeler dreamt of was winning a bib. Accordingly, he was hesistant, wanted to sneak up the stairs and to the counters with a polite excuse...

“All you have to do is turn the wheel”, Aidan begged. “No blanks! Come on, Mr. Keeler, have courage and try your fortune!”

And as he knew well, his big childlike eyes never failed their purpose. Mr. Keeler sighed and stepped closer. Then, with a rather unenthusiastic gesture, he turned the wheel. It spun and spun and – Aidan turned around a little to have a better look – stopped on the number 15.

The 15, of all numbers! The breastfeeding starter kit! What an epic blunder. Aidan inhaled and with a sharp slap of hand silenced Ben who had just opened his mouth to trumpet the result. No way they could let poor Mr. Keeler go home with that price! They had to do something! Suddenly, like a lightning, Aidan hit on an idea.

“Wow, number 15!”, he exclaimed, beaming all over his chubby face. “What a lucky man you are, Mr. Keeler! The 15 is one of our best prices!”

Ben looked at him in bewilderment, and Simon Keeler seemed unbelieving as well. “Ah, really?”, he asked. “Let me guess: a pillbox, or a stylish denture case?”

 _Worse, way worse,_ Aidan thought, but he was also slightly offended by the ironic undertone. “Aww, no! Mr. Keeler, you won the gift coupon for a wellness-massage by Mister Encke, the physiotherapist!”

Keeler lifted an eyebrow, apparently torn between happiness and horror and thank God quickly distracted with reading the voucher, because Ben couldn't pull himself together anymore.

“Aidan, are you crazy?”, he whispered, half hidden behind the wheel of fortune. “This was our main price! You can't just give it away to anybody you fancy!”

But Aidan just shrugged. He could not be deterred. This was the chance - his chance! - to make two lonely, suffering hearts come together, so he totally had to grasp at this opportunity, right?

“Congratulations, Mr. Keeler!”, he exulted. “I told you, today is your fortunate day! You'll see, you'll feel like a new man after that massage!” _Ha! Like Desmond's man, hopefully!_ And he winked, although he had the slight feeling that maybe Mr. Keeler was suspecting something. He looked so suspiciously unsurprised...

# Desmond

  
  


“It's Simon Keeler. I'd like to make an appointment.”

Desmond almost dropped the handset of the intercom when he heard who was speaking. He was glad his session with Miss Orlova was almost finished, otherwise he wouldn't even have answered the doorbell! And now that, Simon Keeler. Well, he couldn't go back now any more. He left his client with the advice to take her time sitting up and getting dressed, then hasted out to the office door to wait for the surprise visitor to come up.

The elf needed a long time to do so, and when he entered the office, he looked utterly exhausted. His cheeks were speckled with red spots, sweat-drops were glinting on his forehead and on his nose. Yet, in his elegant black coat and hipster beanie with all the pale hair framing his face, he still appeared so sweet and perfect Desmond just stood and stared at him, dumbfounded and infatuated.

It wasn't hard to guess that walking all the way here from his house and up the stairs had been to much for the blond. Polite as he was, Desmond put a hand on Simon's shoulder to lead him to a chair. Simon, however, balked at the effort and remained standing, albeit cramping one hand around the armrest for support.

“I'd like to redeem the... voucher... from the pharmacy”, he panted. “You know, the one I 'won'.”

The elf looked up at him and through him at the same time, and suddenly Desmond understood that Aidan's plan had been way less clever than he had thought. The physiotherapist gulped, but managed to cover it up by producing his phone to check for an open date. Of course there was none in the next two weeks, but Desmond was determined to play this game until the very end.

“Mh, the evenings are still pretty free this week”, he lied, “What about, for example, friday at, uh, 19 o'clock?”

He usually only worked until 18:30, but what was overtime hours compared to the prospect of spending time with the elf? He had no idea how he should be able to act normally around him, but he still had two days left to figure this out.

The elf squinnied a little and looked somewhat unhappy, but in his exhausted state it was hard to tell what was really going on. “Oh, this is pretty late”, he mumbled, his white eyebrows drawn together to a frown.

Then, however, he seemed to remember something. “Well, fine. I'll take it.” He winked. “I can't allow my jackpot to lapse, right?”

Double entendre or not, now Desmond definitely blushed as he felt horribly embarassed about this whole scheming. Keeler's mischievous smile unsettled him even more. This was no forsaken child waiting for his saviour! This was a sharp, witty little gentleman that surprisingly and by mysterious reasons was willing to play along Encke's plan.

Desmond nodded when he typed the new appointment into his phone like it was the most normal thing, the most normal client. But the prospect of being able to touch this man's body at some point set him sweating, too, and convinced Desmond he should never have agreed to mix private and business matters in such a way.

Aidan! What had he even thought coming up with this idea? Making him look foolish, assuming Mr. Keeler to be foolish, too. This time, he wouldn't get away with it, that was for sure. Desmond would kill him. This time there would be no mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * these are part of the lyrics of my favourite burgundian chanson by Gilles Binchois, 'Amoureux suy' ('I'm in love'):
> 
> You are the one I want to serve now,  
> You are all my happy memories,  
> now and forever, very soft, simple and chaste.


End file.
